


Frank Is Dead

by DaisukiRose



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Based on a My Chemical Romance Song, Depressed Gerard, Don't let them take the light behind your eyes, Drug Use, Gerard was prolly the bottom, I Blame Tumblr, I don't know, I just really love Ryan Ross, I mean definitely wtf, I mean thats the title, M/M, Poor Gerard, SOB FIC BE READY, That has nothing to do with the story but I mean he's so SmOL like, What Was I Thinking?, frank is dead, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 13:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6426343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisukiRose/pseuds/DaisukiRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank is dead.<br/>How will Gerard cope? Probably not very well, but hey, read the story.<br/>TRIGGER WARNINGS EVERYWHERE<br/>*Throws trigger warnings like confetti*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frank Is Dead

Frank is dead.  
The three-word mantra was repeating in Gerard’s head, his eyes open and unseeing, staring at the ceiling of the tour bus. He had been fine at the show yesterday, hopping around the stage like a bunny on speed as usual. He had been fine when they went out for drinks after. He had been fine when he had accidentally, drunkenly groped Gerard on their way back to the bus. (Not that Gerard was complaining, of course. His crush on Frank wasn’t really a secret.) He had been fine when Gerard had fallen asleep next to Frank in his bunk, watching shitty movies and eating even shittier food. He was probably fine right now, too, right?  
Wrong.  
Frank is dead.  
Gerard had gotten up around 1:30 pm, stretched, and asked where Frank was. Mikey got a weird look on his face and said he had though Frank was still asleep. Gerard had assured him that he wasn’t. They called his phone just to receive no answer.  
_Hey, this is Frank Iero, and I’m probably performing or out partying or some shit. If this is my mom, then hi, Mom! I’m a rockstar! If this is Gerard, then hello! I live with you like 50% of the time, why are you calling? Anyways, leave a message after the beep. Beep!_   
Frank is dead.  
1:48 pm, a police report was filed with the Chicago PD, reporting Frank Iero missing. 2:03 pm, Ray quietly informed Gerard that he would pace a hole in their bus if he didn’t stop soon. 3:27 pm, Gerard received a call from a morgue that said they had identified the body of one Frank Iero, height 5’5, weight 145 lbs. 3:28 pm, Gerard didn’t believe them. 4:57 pm, Gerard identified the body of one Frank Iero at Chicago Crematorium and Morgue, height 5’5, weight 145 lbs. 4:59 pm, Gerard discovered that Frank had been shot by some gang or another, he didn’t care to remember their name, but he hated them with a passion.  
Frank is dead.  
Ray was better at people skills, so he called Frank Iero, Sr. to tell him of his son’s death. Gerard could hear Linda Iero’s wailing through a phone and 8 feet away, and it just broke his heart more. He picked up his bottle of Xanax and took 4, chasing them with half a bottle of vodka. All he wanted was to forget.  
Frank is dead.  
*~;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;~*  
It had been 3 days since he had been to the morgue, 2 since he’d last been even remotely sober, and 1 since their fan base had basically exploded in tears. The rest of the band had gone home, back to their families, but Gerard couldn’t bear to leave the bus for fear of losing memory of Frank. He lay in Frank’s bunk, Frank’s pillow pressed over his face, Frank’s pictures around him, empty bottles taking up one corner of the room. He didn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, or the last time he’d gotten out of Frank’s bunk. All he knew was that no more tears would come – He’d cried himself to a hiccupping state, void of tears. His phone rang, but he didn’t answer it. He just pulled Frank’s pillow tighter over his face. If he was going to die, he’d rather suffocate in memories of Frank.  
His phone rang again later, but he didn’t answer it, couldn’t answer it. His limbs wouldn’t cooperate with him, they were leaden and heavy at his sides. His eyes were staring at the ceiling of Frank’s bunk, at a picture of him and Frank, both of them smiling with their first record contract in hand. He wished he could say how much he loved him, how much he loved memories of him, but he couldn’t because  
Frank is dead.  
The next thing he remembered was Mikey. Mikey woke him up, shook him until he mumbled a string of expletives and felt like he was going to throw up. He assumed Mikey was saying words, but all he could hear was faraway mumbling as he blindly reached for his bottle and got his hand swatted away. Oh, that’s right. His brother had assumed he was clean from drinks. Well, the joke’s on Mikey. Gerard hasn’t been sober at all lately; He’s been drowning his spirits in spirits.  
Frank is dead.  
Gerard wishes he was dead. Life without Frank isn’t the same. But, if there was one thing that Gerard despised more than a life without Frank, it was cliché. He wouldn’t be the cliché lover that killed themselves after the death of their partner. Hell, he and Frank weren’t even a thing, never had been official. It was just how it was – Gerard and Frank, Frank and Gerard, the dynamic duo that were always there for eachother. And now, where was Frank when he needed him most? Dead, in a morgue being dressed for his funeral tomorrow. He would be expected to go. He would be expected to make a speech without breaking down. He would be expected to be clean and sober. He didn’t know if he could do that.  
Frank is dead.  
He made the funeral, showered but not sober. He was unpleasantly buzzed, but hadn’t drank as much as he usually would’ve, out of respect for Frank. He did want to remember the funeral, after all. He vaguely remembered Mikey asking him how it should be, and he vaguely remembered answering that it should be a reverse wedding, black and red instead of white and blue, being separated from life instead of starting a new one. At the time, he had been drunk, but he had found it strangely poetic. Now, he just found it bloody. The red was splashed everywhere, in the form of drapes and roses and the walk up the centre aisle, as well as a deep burgundy that was the lining of Frank’s coffin. Frank’s suit was all black, the coat had one zip-up pocket, and his tie was a deep red to match the coffin. Gerard was sure that the outfit-coffin coordination had been his idea, but he was too drunk to remember saying it. Someone had stuck Frank’s piercings back in, painted his nails, and done his eyeliner one last time. His skin was the pale ivory that all embalmed people were, making his tattoos stand out in a stark relief that Gerard hated.  
Frank is dead.  
Gerard’s speech was slurred, stumbled, and halting. He tried to say something meaningful about Frank’s life, but just ended up a blubbering mess, being held up and carried away by Mikey and Ray. Frank’s mom hugged him for a very long time and wouldn’t let go. Gerard didn’t really want her to, either.  
Frank is dead.  
Gerard had collapsed back inside the tour bus the moment the funeral was over. He downed a handful of pills with a drink of whatever liquor was left on the bus and fell back into Frank’s bunk. The numbness washed over him and he sighed, closing his eyes and fingering the soft sheets. He fell into unconsciousness with thoughts of Frank replaying over and over in his mind.  
Frank is dead.  
Gerard woke up momentarily, just to blearily swallow more pills and drink more liquor. Keeping himself numb kept away the feeling of despair he got when he thought of Frank and replaced it with a fuzzy acceptance. He didn’t want to die, but he wished he was dead. He didn’t think he’d mind too terribly much if he happened to take too many pills at once, didn’t think he’d mind if he just slipped away. He didn’t do it on purpose, of course, because that’d be suicide, and he wasn’t about to try and stoop that low.  
Frank is dead.  
It had been three weeks since Frank died. It had been three weeks since Gerard was last sober. It had been three days since Mikey had put out a Missing Persons report for one Gerard Arthur Way, but Gerard didn’t know that. It had been about three seconds since Gerard had swallowed the remainder of his bottle of Xanax, not counting and not caring. He knew it was more then he should take, more then he usually took, but at the moment, he really didn’t care. It wasn’t suicide, no, it was hopelessness. He didn’t want to die, he wanted to be dead, and in his mind, those were two very different things. He had already died, he just wasn’t physically dead yet. His vision got blurry and he closed his eyes, a small smile taking his lips by surprise. Suddenly, he jumped, grabbing a piece of paper from under the bunk and fumbling for anything he could write with. Nine words had popped into his head, one sentence that he had to write down, had to look at again when he was sober. Don’t let them take the light behind your eyes. He loved the way it sounded, loved the way it rolled off his drug-numbed tongue, and smiled as he leaned back against the wall of Frank’s bunk, clutching one of Frank’s hoodies to his chest. He smiled because he couldn’t feel pain anymore. He smiled because he knew, suddenly knew, that it would all be alright. His smile stayed etched on his face as his eyes closed blearily and he slumped over, Frank’s skeleton hoodie still clutched to his chest.  
Frank is dead.  
Mikey Way found the tour bus the next day. He knocked. Upon receiving no answer, he sighed and unlocked the door, going inside and pushing a half-empty vodka bottle aside. He wandered towards the back of the bus, towards the bunks, in search of Gerard. He found him slumped against the wall, Frank’s skeleton hoodie clutched in his pale hands, eyes partly open, staring, unseeing, at the wall. His chest wasn’t moving, his pulse point was still, but a smile was on his face. A soft, loving smile, Frank’s hoodie held to his face.  
Frank isn’t alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys, sorry for the sob story. I wrote it on a whim. Also, I blame Tumblr. I think I put that in the tags Cx  
> I've had a few messages asking if I'm alright, and the truth is, I am now. I met a guy *All my friends ship us but like were friends?* and his name is Matt, and he's teaching me to play bass, and it makes it all alright c:  
> BUT AAAANNNYYYGAY  
> Kudos, comments, smiles? IDK. I love you all so much! :3 Hugs and kisses and rainbows and cookies!  
> *rides off into the sunset on a walrus because walruses are majestic and beautiful creatures*  
> ~xoxomika


End file.
